This morning began before the sun, in a space that already felt heavy.
Words were exchanged that did not land softly.
Small choices became criticisms.
I chose silence, not because I had nothing to say,
but because peace felt more important than being heard.
The journey out was crowded and restless.
There were near misses, sudden movements,
and moments where I had to shift myself quickly
just to feel safe in my own space.
At work, the rhythm of the day carried both noise and stillness.
There were...

I woke before the sky softened,
in a body that already felt like it had run a race.
Warm drinks, small routines, careful steps
even the simple act of holding a spoon
slipped once, then recovered.
The morning moved forward anyway.
The bus was crowded,
voices brushing past like wind I could not hold.
There were moments that felt sharp,
like being seen too closely or misunderstood,
and I held my space the best I could,
quietly adjusting, quietly enduring.
Outside, the world felt fast
wheels passing too...

This morning began early, before the world had fully opened its eyes.
There was warmth in a cup, small routines held carefully,
and a body that felt a little too heavy, a little too warm,
trying its best to keep going anyway.
The journey out was cautious.
Cyclists passed too close,
movements felt sharper than usual,
and the day had already asked for alertness
before it had even properly begun.
Inside the space, the air was cold.
Voices came and went, some light, some careless,
some that brushed too...